


Mercy

by meli_fan



Series: Tumblr Works [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: this made people cry on tumblr so naturally I had to save it for posterity in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7404196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meli_fan/pseuds/meli_fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uneasiness took place in her heart as she watched him hang. Perhaps imprisonment was his proper punishment, but how could she know better? All the men around her seemed eager for violent ends, and Arya was little more than a girl.</p><p>This is war, she repeats to herself, and prey is prey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

_“He has told you, oh man, what is good and what the Lord desires of you—that you love mercy and do justice and walk humbly with your God.” - Book of Micah._

 

*/*

 

When she tells uncle Brynden the plan, he thinks it is insane.

 

“Are you mad, child?” His eyes are as big as saucers, and he’s gripping her arms so tight. “Promise me you will do no such a thing.”

 

“I promise, uncle.” She nods and bows her head so he can kiss her forehead, a silent congratulation for her obedience. But Arya Stark was never obedient, less of all if something was forbidden to her. And after all this time, after being a prisoner and murderer, she is still not obedient. _Had I been, would I still serve him of many faces? Have I even stopped being his servant?_ Sometimes, when she sleeps and hunts in Nymeria’s skin, she wonders why it feels so satisfying to find prey.

 

She listens to him, telling her how they will work around a siege even if it is long. _He doesn’t understand_ , Arya thinks, _it will be cruel_. They may be a small group, but all the planning they had put into dividing their forces to both sides of the river paid off. The Twins is surrounded by land on both shores, and any ship planning to leave would sink under the fire of the arrows. It doesn’t mean t will be easy. It means they will starve them out, and that Arya cannot stop thinking.

 

 _The men of arms will not die first, it will be the women and children_. Arya knows this. She knows as well, that they’re not to blame. It will be cruel. _I saw the cruelty of Robb’s own men_ , she think, _I’d rather not cause the smallfolk to hate me_.

 

Arya Stark was never obedient. She doesn’t even need to wear a face, she can dress the part of peasant and sneak in so easily it is almost laughable that they’re troubling with a siege. _We have few men_ , she remembers, _we need this victory to be effective so more will join_. She silently kills the one they call Black Walder first and sneaks out, and a new one every night that passes. She’s good at killing. It makes her heart ache, what would her father think of Arya being good at it. It doesn’t take long for the Freys to distrust themselves, to start sending different men outside with different terms for peace every day.

 

“You broke your promise,” her uncle says sadly, when he enters and sees her putting the leather armor on, Nymeria looking at her. “You  should be more careful.”

 

“Uncle Brynden, I-” Arya is not good with words, how could she explain? “A long siege…many would die.” She looks at him, and find only sympathy. “It would not be fair.”

 

That sounds stupid even to her, and her uncle simply barks out a laugh. “Life is hardly fair child, war even more so.” Arya knows this, and he knows she knows this. Uncle Brynden has such a sad eyes, she thinks, they remind her of her own whenever she looks at her reflection. “We’re ready.”

 

It was easy. Arya is not even in the vanguard. She’s in the middle, shouting to keep the soldier fighting, surrounded by the more skillful soldiers. They take the first castle easily, yet the bridge and tower is bloody mess that frustrates Arya until they finally breach the second castle. Many of their enemies die, but not all. For the most cases, she insist they keep prisoners. They will have to be executed or punished in other ways. She cannot think of it at the moment, but she knows she cannot simply kill them all. _No matter how much I want to_. She doesn’t even know if she wants them dead, she just wants them to pay. _What is the payment for what they did to my family?_

 

The blood is running hot in her veins, all the men gathered at the gates, the prisoners shoves together, bound and gagged. Someone takes out wine from the Frey’s cellars and all men are celebrating. Arya is not distracted by any of this, and her eyes search for one person among the prisoners. When she finds him, she had to grip Nymeria’s fur from acting on behalf of her mistress’ anger.

 

“Walder Frey.” Arya says, and what she’s sure was a low whisper, but everyone falls silent as someone bring him in front of her. The man looks at her like she was disgusting dirt on his shoe. She’s sure the sentiment is reflected in her face. “I saw what you did to my brother’s body, and to my mother’s too. Tell me, why should I grant you a dignified death with a sword?”

 

The old lord doesn’t even bother answering, and soon enough the men start screaming vicious suggestions. Even uncle Brynden mutters something about body parts, but Arya is no butcher. She’s a wolf, with sharp teeth and a dark hunger. “Nymeria,” she orders quietly, her voice lost among all the shouted suggestions, “feed.”

 

The men only cheer on as the wolf leap to it feat and tears the lord apart, but Arya feels emptiness. She can sense her uncle feels the same, when he puts a hand on her shoulder. _It will not bring Robb and Mother back_. As she sees the fear among the rest of the Frey men, she feels the burden of choosing their sentence even heavier.

 

*/*

 

House Mooton swear allegiance easily, and Arya dislikes lord William very much.

 

“He was never really brave to begin with.” Uncle Brynden mutters to her after they had the salt and bread. “Having is castle taken by Tarly must not have helped.”

 

“To seven hells with Tarly, he let his people with no defense!” Arya whispers harshly. Her first travels through the Riverlands had been awful, but this second one was even more gruesome. At first she had been hungry and fearful, but now everyone was. Smallfolk and lords alike were hungry and fearful, and Arya only had her name and her uncle’s to keep it together. _If only we had Riverrun_ , she thought, _we would inspire them so much if we could retake it._

 

“Lady Stark, Lord Brynden,” starts ser William, “ we have a prisoner. His name is Dunsen, he came with others bringing ser Robin Ryger and ser Desmond Grell.”

 

 _The old gods have given me a gift_ , Arya thought. Would he still have the helm? It hurt to think of Gendry, of the childish companionship. _He was my pack, I wish I could know if he still lived_. So many of her pack had died, Arya felt like she was no more than grief and nightmares.

 

“What is the cause of his imprisonment?” her uncle asks after her prolonged silence.

 

“When he was here he stole, and lord Tarly insisted he be imprisoned before he departed for the King’s Landing.” Lord William explained. _He didn’t cut his hand, or send him to the Wall_ , she thought. _Southerners_.

 

“What of ser Desmond and ser Robin?” Asks her uncle Brynden, before looking at her and explaining, “they were loyal men to House Tully.” And surely why they were sent to the wall, Arya guessed.

 

“They departed weeks ago, ser, with other companions to make sure they reached the Wall. They must not have gone far with this snow.”

 

“Well then, send men to reach them and bring them back.” Arya orders at once. The lord does not seem keen of being barked orders in his castle though, despite so many talk of his cowardice.

 

“I have few men, my lady, and they have some of the Mountain’s men guarding them!” the lord raises his hands as if asking for her to use her head, but Arya is sure this man has turd where he’s supposed to have brain.

 

“You have opened your castle to us, lord Mooton, have pledged loyalty to our cause. Now, the only way you can be in the winning side, is if you help us win.” Arya spats at him, rising from her seat. She may not be tall, but he looks small sitting down and looking her up. “We cannot win without loyal men in our cause, we cannot win if other lords see that we make no effort to help our own, do you understand?” Lord Mooton nods silently.

 

“You must send men to liberate them from their escorts and bring them back.” Her uncle says.

 

“And you will bring me this Dunsen, so we can have justice.” She orders him, leaving him baffled.

 

“My lady, his only crime was stealing, wouldn’t you agree to lord Tarly’s sentence?”

 

“I was his prisoner once, and trust me, stealing is not his only crime. Bring him to me.” She repeats, staring at the lord until Nymeria growls and promptly causes him to send for the man.

 

Arya explains the man’s crimes and that of his companions from Harrenhal to the lords with her. They are all angered by the actions committed to the smallfolk in Harrenhal, while lord Brynden silently shook his head and said the man needed to pay for his crimes.

 

Dunsen did not have Gendry’s helm with him. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, even as they sentenced him to death, it did not mean she could do right to her friend. Uneasiness took place in her heart as she watched him hang. Perhaps imprisonment was his proper punishment, but how could she know better? All the men around her seemed eager for violent ends, and Arya was little more than a girl.

 

*/*

 

Arya allows herself a moment to breath before she rides forward.

 

They had Riverrun for no more than a few hours when they come. Seven Hells, they don’t even have Riverrun. They have accepted after some of her uncle’s men have reached inside the castle through her uncle’s secret passages and swimming strategies. Arya is a good swimmer, but of course, she cannot do the work of soldiers.

 

“You’re more important.” Her uncle had said. She did not feel so important. The lords respected her enough, but only a few called her ‘princess’. Not that she minded.  She didn’t really blame them. It was one thing if the Riverlords wanted House Tully back as liege, but another thing to recognize the North’s independence. Arya longed to go home, but there was snow, war and confusion. _Is it still my home? It is no more than ashes and memory now._

 

Lord Frey had just sent his terms for surrender when the Lannister forces arrive. It is Nymeria’s pack that warns them, howling at the woods. It is a mess of clashing swords, inside the castle and outside, Arya in the middle of it, the parchment with Frey’s terms still in her hands.

 

“Fight for you Queen!” He is screaming to the men, all clad in gold and red armor. _I thought Kingsguard stayed by the King’s side_. The Lannister forces are inspired, and in front of them all is Meryn Trant. Arya knows what she needs to do now. _Your men will only fight for you if you fight alongside them_ , something inside her whispers.

 

Arya allows herself one last moment before she springs into battle. Then, it is confusion, it is carnage. She hears the clashing of swords, the sounds of soldiers dying, of flesh being cut and bones being smashed. Arya feels blood splattered on her skin, she feels death, death, and more death. _They don’t deserve it_ , she thinks. _I asked them to fight for me, but it is not fair_. Arya did not want any more pain for the children these men left behind, for the abandoned mothers and wives.

 

The people of the Riverlands didn’t deserve it, or from the Westerlands. She counts her kills, one, two, three, until she is tired and it gets harder and she stops worrying about counting. All the pain she’s causing, not even considering the ones Nymeria kills. _This is war_ , she repeats to herself, _and prey is prey_.

 

Arya does not know how Meryn Trant dies- He just dies. Not by her hand, not by her avenging Syrio. He’s just another casualty, and Arya sees a nasty bite on his leg when she examines the body. She can’t even know if it was at least Nymeria. Was this justice? He didn’t die by her hand, paying for Syrio. He was just another casualty of war.

 

When she finds herself praying after the battle, bitter tears leave her eyes. The face of her gods is staring back at her, and she swears she hears her name whispered by the leaves of the tree. She didn’t know where the tears came from.

 

 _I killed so many_ , she thinks. _So many and I did not get justice for Syrio_. Or did she? Was it only justice if it came from her hand? Was her justice always going to be killing those who wronged her loved ones?

 

“What do you want from me?” She asks to the nameless gods, their red eyes staring back. “Who do I know when I killed too many? How many left still to pay for what they did?” _Does it have to be me?_ she wonders, _must I be the justice of my gods?_

 

*/*

 

 

The singer is there, looking at her. She knows him. Tom. The name tastes like past in her mouth, like past and pain.

 

“More water, my lady?” A servant asks diligently. She’s always refusing wine, and everyone thought it was a joke when she asked for ale, so they have water for her.

 

“Thank you,” she mutters as she watches the singer playing some notes on his instrument, at the request of some of the lords. Lords she doesn’t know the name of - it is impossible to learn all of their names - and women ready to celebrate.

 

Riverrun is her family’s again. But it is not Arya’s home. Her uncle knows. She sees it in his sad smile, in his resigned looks. He knows she will go North. Arya belongs to Winterfell, no matter if Stannis Baratheon holds it, if it's burnt and filled with ghosts. Arya Stark is a daughter of the North, and it is there where she belongs.

 

She waits until the feast is over to find Tom. He does not smile when he sees her. “What is your business here?”

 

“Singing songs.” He answers simply. “Men need their spirits raised after such a battle.”

 

“What are you doing here?” She insists. The years have not make her more patient.

 

“The Brotherhood is no longer necessary.” He says simply, hopeless.

 

“The lords want an end to the hangings.” She explains, making sure it sounds like a warning. “They are through with justice being done outside the proper laws of Gods and men.” She sees stubbornness set in his face, so she continues. “Ser Beric must stop this nonsense.”

 

There is shame in Tom’s face when he speaks again. “It is not ser Beric who we follow, my lady. He is gone from this world… Permanently.”

 

“Who, then?” She asks surprised.

 

“Mother Merciless.” He says quietly, looking away from her. Mother Merciless, the name leaves her cold, and he must see the request in his eyes because he just nods. “I will take you to her.”

 

She is not blindfolded this time. She had sneaked away, guarded only by Nymeria and her Needle. She is guided by Tom past roads and deep woods to a small elevated area. When they circle it and see the entrance of a cave, she realises it’s the Hollow Hill. Her thoughts return to Gendry. She was scared to ask for his faith. _I cannot handle any more news of death_.

 

“Lady Arya.” Harwin is there, older, worn down. She tries to smile, but the state of all the men in the cave restrains her. There is an air of despair and hopelessness in all of them. “We looked for you.”

 

“Yes, Tom told me.” She answers and there is a silent pause. “What is going on? Where is Thoros?”

 

Harwin just lets his head fall, and turns for her to follow him. It’s just him, Arya and Nymeria. The deeper they go in the cave, the more dread fills Arya’s body. Although there are torches, Arya feels like she’s being engulfed by a darkness she cannot explain.

 

“Harwin?” a voice from her past asks. Thoros  is not drinking, that much Arya can tell. “What do you want?”

 

“The Lady Stark is here.” Harwin says painfully and Arya must stop herself from correcting him. _That was always my mother, doesn’t matter if they call me that now._

 

“Of course she is.” Thoros says from the shadows, but Arya feels two pair of feet move in the dark.

 

“The Lady Arya Stark.” Harwin explains. An awful sounds reaches her ears, and finally Thoros emerges with someone beside him.

 

 _Mother_.

 

Arya’s legs almost give away, so she must hold on to Nymeria. _It is her_. “Mother.” She says as she steps forward. She was so beautiful, she wants to ask what happened to her. But her lips only seem able to form one word. “Mother.” When she reaches her, her mother extends her hands to touch her.

Her fingers are cold, white as milk.Swollen flesh. The wound on her neck taunting Arya for her failure at the Twins. _I did not save her_. Her eyes, her eyes are not the eyes of her mother. _Her eyes were soft and caring_. “What did you do to her?”

 

“The Lord raised her.” Thoros explained, “ser Beric passed the light to her your mother’s body.”

 

“A body does not make a mother.” She spits out. She feels the tears welling in her eyes, making her vision blurry. There is no love in the creature's eyes, just anger. _Is this what I look like?_ “Mother, this needs to stop. Some of the men you hang are innocent.”

 

Suddenly, her mother's grips her grips so tightly Arya only manages to free her left hand before the Lady Stoneheart digs her nails into her skin. She is speaking something Arya cannot understand, not even as Harwin attempts to translate that they must hang, they must all pay. _She scares me_. Her body is no more than grief and hate. _And I love her_.

 

‘ _Death is not the worst thing. It is his gift to us’_ , the voice of the Kindly Man reminds her. “...an end to want and pain.” Arya mutters to herself.

 

 _Do you remember where the heart is?_ , she wonders as her hand takes out Needle. When Arya plunges it in her mother’s heart, she does not see life leave her eyes. _She was already gone_. Lady Stoneheart dies again, and all that is left behind is Catelyn’s body for Arya to hold and cry.

 

_I loved my mother. She is resting now, with father and my brothers._

 

Like a sad lullaby, an old song come back to haunt her. _Mercy, Mercy, Mercy_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments are love :)


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